


Just Friends

by halfmetalbitch



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 2nd person POV, BestFriend!Loki, Drabbles, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hella Angst Incoming, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki Isn't Good At Dating Advice, Loki/OFC - Freeform, Loki/reader - Freeform, Protective Loki (Marvel), Reader Has Powers, Reader Insert, Slow Burn, The Smut is Cumming Later, all aboard the smut train, avenger!loki, avenger!reader, choo choo, the sexual tension is real, the smut has arrived
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24284095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfmetalbitch/pseuds/halfmetalbitch
Summary: After Loki moves into the Avenger's Tower, you make fast friends with him despite his murderous tendencies. But how long can just friends last?Chapter One: Loki gives you dating advice after a date gone wrong.Chapter Two: Loki falls asleep next to you during movie night, but when you wake him up you get more than you bargain for.Chapter Three: When the tower is compromised, Loki searches for you first.Chapter Four: You beat Loki during game night, and he gives you your prize.Chapter Five: In the wake of game night, Loki seems distant. But during his first mission with the Avengers, things go horribly wrong.Chapter Six: You awaken in a hospital bed, and Loki confesses why he's been avoiding you.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 150





	1. Date an Immortal

**Author's Note:**

> Had the inspiration for some drabbles today. Who wouldn't want Loki as their BFF? ;)

It was late when you returned to the tower. Leaning against the side of the empty elevator, washed out by sickly florescent light, you let the hurt in your chest collapse in on you like a dying star. It wasn’t that the date had gone badly. You had been out with the guy a couple times before, and as much as you did enjoy his company, you knew it would never be something serious.

It was what he said to you.

The elevator door opened with a cheery ping. The tower was quiet, dark, lonely. You were glad no one was in the common room, glad you wouldn’t have to put on a happy mask and pretend everything was normal.

Stepping into the kitchen area, you flipped on the under-cabinet lights and pulled a wine glass from the cabinet before searching for a bottle of wine and wine opener.

Sure, you were already sodden, but just the thought of his face when your perfect control over your powers slipped, when he found out what you were, made you want to drown yourself in alcohol. I’ll never be with a freak like you.

“What’s got little miss sunshine’s knickers in a twist?” A voice behind you said.

Startled, you jumped, knocking your head on the cabinet with a yelp.

“Loki,” you grumbled, turning to glare at him as a laugh left his mouth.

He leaned against the island opposite you, a smirk plastered on his smug face. His dark hair fell loose to his shoulders, free of the products he normally used to slick it back. He wore a sage green sweater, hands hidden in the pockets of his dark sweat pants.

“Not tonight, Loki,” you said simply, tone leaving no room for the banter he so enjoyed engaging you in.

Loki had moved into the tower a few weeks before—a trial run at being an Avenger, so to speak. As long as he managed to not murder anyone—which was harder to accomplish than one might think—he was set. You had taken to him quickly, taken to how easily he made you laugh, how natural it felt to talk to him. He was your best friend in the tower despite how much more time you had spent with all the others.

You pulled a second wine glass from the cabinet, and the wine bottle glugged as you filled the two glasses. You held it out to him. His green eyes lingered on your face, assessing, before they fell on the glass in your hand. The smirk was gone as he took the glass from you, his chilled fingers skimming over yours.

“I take it the date didn’t go to plan?” he asked.

You took a sip of your wine. “You could say that.”

“What, did you step on his toes while dancing?” Loki scoffed. “Spill your drink on him? I’m sure he probably deserved it.”

Your cheeks heated in shame, and you pressed the cool wine glass to your face. 

You opened your mouth, then hesitated. “We went back to his place and I lost control.” You met Loki’s gaze, and there was a tightness in his jaw, in his eyes. “He called me a freak.”

He grimaced.

“I know it’s so stupid,” you continued. “So…childish. I’m a grown fucking woman. I shouldn’t care about being called things like that anymore, but…”

You shook your head, taking another sip. Things like this, they always reminded you of your childhood, your father.

“My dad used to lock me in a fucking closet when I lost control, made me write ‘I will not be a freak’ on paper in the dark until my fingers bled,” you blurted, brows furrowed in anger. “And it’s like I somehow keep finding him and dating him.”

You dared a peek at Loki, and his face was deadly serious. It was unlike him. So, he could be serious every once in a while.

Unnerved by his lack of jokes, you broke the silence. “Bet you’ve never seen daddy issues like this before.”

He snorted. “You would be surprised,” he said drily.

With a sigh, Loki rose from where he leaned on the counter and took a step toward you, then another, until you could smell the tobacco and pine scent of him, until you had to look up to meet his gaze.

“You aren’t a freak,” he said with deep conviction, and the sincerity of it caught you off guard. “Weak mortal men will always fear you. Don’t let that allow you to fear yourself.”

He leaned in closer, and you held your breath. There was a delicate clatter as he placed his nearly full wine glass on the counter behind you. Loki turned his back to you, and your gaze followed him as he sauntered from the kitchen.

“So, you’re suggesting I just be celibate the rest of my life?” you called after him.

Loki shrugged. “I’m suggesting you date immortals,” he said, and you could hear the laughter in his voice.


	2. A Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else a super slut for angst??

You always looked forward to movie night. There was something so…normal about curling up on the couch, throwing popcorn at Nat for her stream of snarky comments about the movie choice, and laughing with your fellow Avengers. Sure, between the few of you in the room you could probably level an army of trained soldiers, but you were entitled to a night off every once in a while.

Tonight’s movie was Sharknado, much to Nat’s chagrin and Steve’s consternation.

You spared a glance at Loki curled on the couch beside you. A white fur blanket draped his feet, carved out a bit of space on the couch between the two of you. He looked so different, youthful and unbothered, save for the notch between his brows that told you he was having a not so pleasant dream. He looked nothing like the pallid, sweaty, bruise-eyed monster that attacked the city so long ago.

Things had been a bit harder for him, and you suspected that these nights of joking and growing closer together didn’t feel quite so normal to Loki. It took weeks for him to even dare to join in on movie night, and once he did he was quiet and watchful…when he wasn’t making vicious, underhanded comments. And the others, as kind as they were, didn’t seem to know how to include him, to trust him. How to reconcile the man dozing on the couch with the man who wielded a scepter around New York City and tried to conquer humanity.

On the TV, the movie ended and credits rolled. You, Nat, and Cap stared blankly at the screen, the pale light reflecting on the walls and illuminating their faces in the dark.

“What did I just watch?” Cap asked, sounding as if he truly had no clue.

“I think I might have one brain cell left,” Nat commented wryly. She picked up some popcorn from the floor and tossed it back at you. “I’m picking the movie next time.”

You snorted, catching one of the pieces in your mouth. “Fine. Losers.”

Beside you, Loki mumbled softly.

“Someone better put the baby to bed,” Nat said in a singsong voice, a sly smirk twisting her lips.

At her side, Cap’s features hardened. While you had found it quite easy to forgive Loki for the things he had done while not completely under his own control, others had found it more challenging. It was a wonder Loki could sleep through the glares Steve had been lobbing in his direction all night.

You shrugged. “C’mon sleepy head,” you said, giving Loki’s knee a firm shake.

He moved so quickly that you didn’t even register what was happening.

A crushing pressure enveloped your throat. All the air rushed from your lungs as your back slammed against the wall, your teeth nearly cracking at the force. Your fingers flew to the pressure on your neck—a hand, Loki’s hand, immovable as a steel vice. You stared down at him, tears from pain and lack of oxygen blurring your vision. Loki looked wild, dark hair disheveled, his gaze halfway here and halfway somewhere else. His chest heaved, muscles straining against the thin fabric of his black shirt.

When you tried to lower your head, a sharp point ribbed the soft flesh beneath your chin. You felt the sharpness of a blade at your throat, a knife he had pulled from thin air. You could use your powers to push him away—to batter him, crush him. Even now, the sweet song of it swirled beneath your skin, begged you to call on it. But you couldn’t, wouldn’t, hurt him.

Steve and Nat burst into action behind him, switching from fun mode to all business in a millisecond.

“Loki, put her down!” Nat commanded. Her body vibrated with tension, face contorted in a vicious sneer.

Steve snarled, his blue eyes chips of ice. “I knew bringing him in here was a terrible idea.”

It was clear in Loki’s eyes, it wasn’t you he thought he had in his grasp. You had woken him from some nightmare, in a place he was still getting used to. You should have known better.

Trembling and light-headed, you clawed at his hands, imploring him to recognize you. “Loki,” you were finally able to grind out through your crushed windpipe. “Please.”

A lightning bolt of shock went through his green eyes, and the knife evaporated. Your name fell from his lips and he released you, hands held up as though he had grasped white-hot coals. You dropped to your knees with a thud, coughing and gasping for breath.

“I’m sorry,” Loki said, staring down at his hands. “Gods. I—“

Steve grasped Loki by his shirt and forced him against the wall. He didn’t fight it—he looked just as shocked as the rest of you. 

Nat went to her knees, checking you over. You winced as her cool fingers prodded your throat, and you could already tell fresh bruises would blossom there overnight.

“She all right?” Steve asked, eyes never leaving Loki.

But Loki didn’t spare a glance for the super soldier restraining him. His eyes were all for you, excruciating guilt and shame filling his gaze as he took in the aftermath of what he had done. It killed you inside to see him like that—so broken, so vulnerable.

“Stop it, Steve,” you rasped, wiping tears from your face. “I’m fine. Let him go.”

You shrugged Nat away and stood. She hung back, a frown pursing her lips. Slowly, hesitantly, Steve loosened his grip. Beside him, a cold mask of calculated apathy clamped over Loki’s face.

“Tell me which one of us hasn’t woken up like that,” you continued, pain making your words sharper than you intended. “Thinking we were somewhere else, with someone else. It was just a mistake. I’m fine.”

For as long as you could remember, you, too, had woken up screaming at least one night a week. There wasn’t a single person in the tower that could boast of restful, ghostless sleep.

But the damage had been done. Any progress you had made with the Asgardian was visibly eking away by the second. You could tell by the coldness of his gaze, the clench in his jaw, the defensive set of his shoulders, as though he were waiting for the three of you to gang up on him.

“Loki, wait,” you said.

He took one backward step into the darkness of the hall, then between one breath and the next disappeared completely.

“Just let him go,” Steve snapped. “Coward.”

With a heavy sigh, you moved toward your room, wanting nothing more than to collapse on your bed. “Good night,” you told your teammates without a backward glance.


	3. For The Best

Your heart was racing when you woke, galloping you back to consciousness from the depths of fitful sleep. The only light in your room came from a digital clock on the night stand beside you. The numbers, _3:18,_ burned like a brand in the darkness. Other than that, a suffocating stillness filled the space. You breathed out, felt sticky sweat dripping down your chest despite the coolness of the room.

What had woken you? Another bad dream? You prodded your mind for the sharp shards of a nightmare, but whatever images remained there had scattered like startled birds when you woke. You laid there a moment, brows furrowed as you tried to calm the hectic beating of your heart.

The silence in the room pressed down on you, too heavy, like the quiet that came after a scream. The calm before a reaction. Shivers crawled your sweat-damp body. It felt like eyes on you, scuttling all over your skin.

Something was _wrong._

Every instinct in you raged and gnashed. You felt it then, the swell of your powers beneath your flesh, rising to meet some yet unknown danger. It felt like an ocean trying to escape from your pores. It was easy to drown in that ocean, and you had to fight the siren call of power every time.

And when the violet hue of your telekinesis eked across the room, goggled eyes and the glint of a knife reflected at you from the foot of your bed.

The room exploded into action.

Above you, a red light and grating siren blared, drowning out the cry you loosed and the ratcheting hammer of your heart. You tugged on the invisible violet rope in front of you, pulling your attacker toward you.

The soldier flailed as he unexpectedly lost his balance. You crawled on top of him, the PVC of his suit sticking to your bare thighs as you straddled his back, only the thin material of your oversized shirt and underwear between you. Tightening your grip on the power simmering between you and your pursuer, you twisted its rope around his throat and crushed with all your telekinetic might, and he went limp underneath you.

Strong arms wound around your neck and tossed you to the ground. The air went out of you, and you groaned, curling into a ball. Those same arms raised above you, another soldier, and this time with his blade glinting above your head, poised to strike like an asp.

You couldn’t catch your breath, your vision swimming too much to direct an attack at him, and so you scrambled back and threw your arms up in defense.

The knife arced toward you, and you braced for the sharp pain of split skin. A burst of emerald light blinded you, and that pain never came.

The sounds of a scuffle and male grunting filled the room. You twisted around, ignoring the sharp pain in your back and stomach, to see what had intercepted the assassin’s attack. You choked on acrid shock—it was Loki trading blows with the soldier.

Loki with one hand gripping the second assassin’s neck, rage burning in his face as he drew back his other fist and landed a nose-breaking blow. In that fist, he held a pitifully wilted bouquet of blue and purple flowers, and when Loki’s hit landed, a nearly comical explosion of petals rained down upon them.

It wasn’t Steve who had come for you, or Natasha, but Loki… A strange warmth gripped your belly, caused your stomach to flip nearly painfully. You pushed that feeling aside, buried it deep enough that it wouldn’t claw its way up again any time soon.

Where the two tousled, glass shattered—a broken mirror. You leapt up, felt your power wash over you as you grabbed onto the man with your mind. Your power sang, a siren’s cry. It slickened in your veins, sliding through like heroin, so thick and sweet as you felt the man’s veins collapse, his bones crush, his organs melt. And in Loki’s grasp, his mortal body crumpled like wet tissue paper.

“That’s a neat party trick,” Loki said, his green eyes spearing you across the room.

His gaze traveled across your ripped T-shirt, down the length of your bare legs, and you felt it like a caress. You caught a glimpse of yourself in a sliver of shattered mirror behind him—a violet sheen in your eyes, like the eyes of a predator at night, and when you sighed, violet power seeped from you like mist. No wonder your date had been terrified of you. But Loki… It wasn’t fear in his eyes. It looked like reverence.

“Are those apology flowers?” you asked, hoping to change the subject.

Loki held up the destroyed bouquet, eyeing it with something like betrayal. “Well, they were,” he said, tossing the crushed stems to the glass-littered floor. “Purple hyacinth for sorrow. Blue hyacinth for sincerity.”

He fidgeted a moment, and bless him, he looked more unsure of himself than you had ever seen him look before.

“I am, perhaps, the biggest fool in this tower,” he continued. “And given its inhabitants, that’s truly saying something.”

You couldn’t help but smile softly. “You were forgiven long ago, Loki.”

Something passed across his face, an unnamable emotion, but it was gone before you could interpret it.

“Are you hurt?” you asked.

You took a step toward him, but your knee trembled and you went down with a gasp. In a breath, Loki was there to keep you from hitting the ground. His body was tightly bound with hard muscle beneath your hands. The earthy scent of him washed over you, a heady perfume of oak and moss, tobacco and amber.

“Are you?” he asked, and he was so close that his breath rustled your hairline.

You twisted around in his strong grasp to inspect yourself. Adrenaline had washed out the pain of a deep cut on your leg. In the darkness, you could see the thin line of blood trailing down your calf to pool on the floor.

“Just a cut,” you said. “Nothing a few stitches won’t heal.”

“Bastards,” he spat.

When you turned to him again, his face was entirely too close to yours. The look in his eyes pulled you in, a softness so intoxicating that you could drown in it. Heat ripped through your belly—gods, that feeling had risen from the dead and clawed its way out of its grave again. You _wanted._ You _needed._

But what was growing between you was _dangerous._ It was _divisive._

“I can stand now,” you whispered, breathless.

“Of course.” It pained you to push him away, and hurt you even more to see his own well-hidden hurt as he recoiled from you.

Heavy footsteps rushed around the corner. Steve’s tall form filled the doorway of your room as he rushed in, calling your name.

“You missed all the action, Captain,” you said drily, placing a hand on your cocked hip.

Steve took in the wreckage of your room, then your barely clothed form, and averted his eyes. If you weren’t mistaken, a dainty pink flushed his cheeks. You turned to smirk at Loki—Steve’s prudish nature a constant source of comedy for the two of you—but, once again, the Asgardian had disappeared.

You tamped down the ache of disappointment in your chest. This was for the best.


	4. Liar's Dice

A soft darkness shone outside the thick glass of the tower lounge. The night was punctuated with the patter of rain against the windows, its blackness broken up by the dim, flickering light of candles that studded the table and counters. A song crooned softly in the background, its sweetness interrupted by the clatter of your and Loki’s dice against plastic cups.

It had been hours since the storm had taken out the power on your floor. You’d thought that with Tony being a genius and all, something like this wouldn’t be a problem, but it looked like you were wrong.

And so, the marathon of card and dice games had begun. The others had long since given up, though—accepted their losses and dragged themselves off to bed when they saw no evidence of you and Loki giving up.

The two of you slammed your cups down onto the table, dice settling inside. This was your tenth game of liar’s dice. By your calculation, you had two dice left and Loki only had a single one.

You peeked beneath your cup. Two ones—the best roll you could possibly get. You tried to keep a smile off your face.

Loki peeked at his die, then smirked at you. You had a feeling he saw right through your attempted mask. “Three threes,” he said without hesitation.

He was betting that every die on the table was either a one or a three. It was a gamble, and you prayed that he didn’t have a one or a three underneath his cup. “Liar,” you called his bluff.

He lifted a perfect brow before revealing his hand, and you did the same.

You revealed your two ones, and under his cup… two dice. A one and a six. You side eyed the stack of confiscated dice at the other end of the table, counted them. There were five dice per player, and the math wasn’t adding up.

“You’re a liar and a cheat, Loki,” you accused.

He grinned and waved a hand over his dice and the one disappeared, leaving him with only a six. Your gamble had paid off, and his hadn’t.

“For the god of mischief, you’d think you’d be better at trickery,” you teased him. You flicked a die at him, and without glancing away he caught it.

A crooked smile formed on his face, dimples showing as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He turned the offending die over between long, slender fingers. “I allowed you to win that one.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, you did.” You leaned forward, flicking your tongue out to wet your lips. “And what do I win, oh great god of mischief?”

He shrugged, a dark glint in his eye. “An hour or two on your knees begging me to let you win again.”

You raised a brow, a thread of warmth tugging at your core at his mention of being on your knees before him. You appreciated the notion, but you weren’t the groveling type.

You shook your head slowly. “You would be the one on your knees,” you told him.

Loki made a soft sound in the back of his throat. His smile faltered, and you could see a cold heat building behind his green eyes. “We shall see.”

Your heart leapt in your chest, the warmth from your belly spreading all over your body. Your clothes felt too tight, too hot. The silence spreading between you was heavy and thick. The way he looked at you now, it was the same way he had looked at you in your room the night of the attack.

You had been fighting this, doing your best to keep things light and platonic. But each time you saw him—the shirt stretch across his broad shoulders, or his slender, nimble hands pulling a mug from the cabinet for coffee, or his reluctant smile when he found something you said clever—it was as if a chisel were chipping away at your resolve.

How good would it feel to just give in? To let it happen?

Nervous energy pooled within you, and you couldn’t help the violet sparks that skittered along your hands. Loki noticed, cocked a brow.

“Why wait to find out?” you asked, gravel in your voice.

Loki processed your words, and then it was as if he had been unleashed. His eyes took on a wild glint, animal and alien, and the prey parts within you clenched with anticipation.

Loki stood, and in a single pace you were staring up at him as he towered over you. His hand slipped into your hair, and he tugged sharply, tilting your head back and eliciting a gasp from you. He leaned in, close enough that you could feel his breath against your lips, smell his earthy scent.

“Do it,” you whispered. “Kiss me.”

Loki growled, and his mouth was on yours, soft and wet and swallowing up each small, hungry sound you made.

You stood, pressing your body against his. Violet energy raced down your form, skittering lightning bolts of power that lit up every place he touched you.

Loki looked down, a smirk pulling up his kiss-swollen lips. “Feeling a spark, darling?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Shut up, Loki,” you hissed, pulling him into you again so you could feel the velvet slip of his tongue against yours.

He lifted you onto the table, and you wrapped your legs around him, feeling his hard length pressing into you. An embarrassing moan ripped from your throat at the feeling of his hardness pushed against exactly where you wanted it— _needed_ it. A ravenous wildfire of desire burned you up, ate you alive from the inside out.

Loki grasped your chin roughly, pulling you back to meet his glossy black gaze. “Did you imagine all the ways I might’ve fucked you?” he whispered into your ear.

A blush heated your cheeks. “Yes,” you admitted shamefully.

He was, until recently, your enemy. He had murdered and betrayed, and worse, and yet still you imagined too often what it would be like if he bent you over and slowly slipped into you.

“Good.”

He reached a hand between you, fingers venturing beneath your skirt. You let out a breathy gasp, threw your head back and closed your eyes as he brushed those fingers against exactly where you wanted him to. You were embarrassed to admit that you were already dripping before he’d even touched you.

“No underclothes,” he teased. “One might think you planned for this to happen.”

But you’re no longer in the mood for his teasing. “Loki,” you sighed, “please.”

“Please what?” he asked against your lips, but pulled just out of reach when you tried to kiss him.

“Please touch me.”

He ran his index finger in lazy circles against you. “I guess we know now which one of us will be doing the begging.”

Before you had time to answer, he slid two fingers into you. You bit his shoulder to stifle a cry of pleasure, a throbbing need building within you already. A low rumble built in his chest, and when you glanced up at him from beneath your dark lashes, his lips were parted and eyes dark with desire as he stared down at you.

He curled his fingers and ecstasy jolted through you. You babbled incoherently through your moans, saying his name and begging and you didn’t know what else.

Loki whispered your name, grinding forward against you.

His fingers kept pace, and when his thumb made quick strokes around your most sensitive places, it was all you could do to hold in a scream as you clung to him and nearly shook to pieces.

“You’re so beautiful when you come apart,” he said as you caught your breath.

Your skin was awash with a soft violet glow. But despite the orgasm, there was still a desperate need clawing inside you. “I need you,” you told him, meeting his gaze.

Something soft and painfully vulnerable showed itself in his face. Had anyone ever told him that they needed him? Wanted him? All of him? But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared.

He glanced away from you, and you suddenly remembered where you were—lying against a table sticky with beer in a place where anyone could walk in on you.

“I’m afraid that will have to wait, unfortunately,” he said. “The Captain’s proprieties might be compromised if he walks in on us together.”

A jolt of fear surged through you and you slid off the table. Loki chuckled at your reaction. Sure enough, those were footsteps you heard coming down the hall.

“Oh no,” you muttered, fixing your skirt and smoothing your hair down. God, Cap was a walking cock block. Damn him.

“Until next time,” Loki said. As he disappeared, he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked your essence from them while you stared.

“Is everything okay? I heard yelling.”

You whirled around to see Cap standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

“Uh,” you stuttered. “Yeah. Yes. I just tripped and, uh, fell.”

Steve glanced down, took in the dice and plastic cups littering the floor, shoved off the table from your tryst with Loki.

“Okay,” Steve said after a moment, then eyeballed you again. “Well, be careful, kid.”

You saluted him. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

“You feeling okay? You look a little flush,” he said.

You tried your best to hold a poker face. “Just a little drunk, is all.” You shrugged. “See you in the morning.”

You didn’t wait for his response before you scurried off to your room.


End file.
